


What guides you home

by kirinokisu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A few deaths of fae creatures, Alternate Universe - Fae, Blood, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Mentions of Death, Mild Gore, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-04-16 11:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14163849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirinokisu/pseuds/kirinokisu
Summary: Tsukishima Kei lives in a lie. Completely unaware. Until a stranger that feels inexplicably like home offers to show him the truth.Because on the other side of the veil, the delicate balance between four fae courts has been tipped. And everyone involved is very quickly running out of time. Tsukishima most of all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short: when your OTP doesn’t have what you crave, you have to create it yourself. I know, I cried too when I learned this harsh cold truth.
> 
> This is a fae fic and most of the lore is based on a variety of fae books I’ve devoured in my life (because I’m an unapologetic fae hoe), but especially ones by Karen Marie Moning, Sarah J. Maas and Julie Kagawa. If some things do not make sense—they will, eventually. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The strange man was back.

He sat in the dimmest corner of the coffee shop, one hand placed casually on the polished surface of the dark cherry wood table, the other circled around a large teacup. He was dressed casually in ripped jeans and a thick knit. And aside from his extra messy hair, he looked like any other twenty-something in Sendai.

Yet Kei could not help but be hyper-aware of his presence.

 _Yachi’s_ was not the kind of place where people came to hang out. Tucked neatly between two popular western restaurants, the tiny unimposing coffee shop specialised in high-quality, low-price takeaway beverages and baked goods that were always fresh and warm. The only people who ever occupied the cosy interior, with its few high round tables and plump bright orange bar stools were friends of employees and occasional lost tourists.

But this man was no tourist. He first appeared about a week ago, and the only reason Kei had taken notice of him was because the man had given Kei a look that was a little too long, a little too heavy, a little _too much_. At Kei’s raised eyebrow, he’d apologised and said he’d mistaken Kei for someone he knew. Then he’d ordered an Earl Grey with milk and went away.

The next day, he was back. And the next. And the next.

All week, from Monday to Thursday, always at the exact same time as Kei.

“You know, if you’re so fascinated, why not try talking to him?”

Kei paused his writing to glare at the smiling barista across from him. “I am not _fascinated_ , Tadashi.”

He wasn’t lying; he knew fascination and it had little to do with the irresistible pull that made all of his attention gravitate towards the mysterious stranger. It was an impulse that he couldn’t control, or explain.

“It’s just… suspicious,” he said, though that wasn’t it either. “He’s suspicious.”

Tadashi finished wiping another tall glass and put it on a shelf next to the others. It was a miserable rainy day in Sendai and his shift had been slow so far, giving him a chance to talk to Kei who was occupying his usual seat at the counter corner. He came here almost every day, mostly to do his homework. And to take advantage of excellent coffee for free since his childhood friends owned the place. Some of the regulars even started a habit of greeting him.

“Maybe he’s here for you?” Tadashi’s voice was low, and it was unlikely that they could be heard by anyone else, but still Kei had to stop himself from looking over his shoulder. “I don’t know, it’s… The timing is peculiar, don’t you think?”

Kei did think. Far too much. Even as his eyes scanned the text in the book and his hand wrote down the words, half of his attention was always on the man in the opposite corner. He never gave in to the urge to actually look, but sometimes he felt those dark eyes on him. And it made something akin to electric current shoot up his spine.

Yesterday, he even dreamed of the man. Or rather, of someone who looked a lot like him.

But felt like something else entirely.

Like spring showers and bright blue sky and fields of lilies-of-the-valley that spanned far, far into the distance. Like careless happy laughter and warm sunshine on bare skin.

Was the man haunting him or something? Because _that_ certainly made sense.

But it was easier to accept than the possibility that yep, he was most definitely going insane.

“Freckles-kun? One more, please. To-go this time.”

Every muscle in Kei’s body went taut, every sense on high alert.

The man was close, too close. And it didn’t make sense because Kei was careful to choose a seat that was farthest away from the cash register. So what was this stranger doing, standing right next to Kei, waving at Tadashi with a charming smile and unnaturally, deliberately casual posture?

Just like that, Kei felt angry.

 _This_ was the cause of his insanity. This man who had no business being here, in the space that Kei considered his, considered _almost home_ unlike his rented one-room apartment that always felt too empty and silent and dark, suffocating Kei inside its four walls.

This man with his ridiculous hair that shouldn’t be attractive, and a voice that sounded inexplicably _off_ , and a face that was too handsome to belong in a real world.

 _Inhuman_ , his mind supplied. Startling Kei so hard his hand knocked against the mug on the table, causing hot coffee to slosh over the rim.

“Oops! Careful there, Glasses-kun.”

The man dared to smile at him. And Kei could do nothing but stare, something hollow spreading in his chest. Something vast and all-consuming. Something that longed.

The stranger’s smile slid off his face slowly.

“Tsukki!” Tadashi intervened, kitchen towel in hand. Belatedly, Kei watched as he prevented a disaster from happening—Kei hadn’t even noticed that the black liquid was pooling dangerously close to his physics textbook. The one that cost an arm and a leg and few extra shifts at the music store next to Tohoku University.

But he did notice the stranger take out a few bills from a wallet, swap them for a brown takeaway cup, and turn to leave. “See you tomorrow, _Tsukki._ ”

 

-

 

Except he didn’t come back the next day. And Kei was most certainly not disappointed. In fact, he was glad.

“And the mystery of the man thickens.”

Kei let out an unamused snort, sipping his coffee. It was Friday and he didn’t have any assignments that needed immediate attention. His next shift at the store wasn’t until Monday. “Have you been watching weird shit on TV again, Tadashi?”

“Just you watching him.”

“I did not watch him.”

“But you wanted to.”

Kei didn’t dignify that with a response. He also ignored the knowing smile on Tadashi’s face.

It was the dead hour at _Yachi’s_ , well after breakfast but long before lunch, when most people were dying behind school and office desks. Tadashi used the time to tidy up and restock, making sure every pastry on display looked as attractive as possible and that every surface was spotless. On busier days, Kei helped. It was a routine he had been familiar with since the day Tadashi and his girlfriend bought the rundown place two years ago and transformed it into one of the most beloved coffee shops in the area.

Going back to it after a few days of _plain weird_ should’ve felt comforting. But didn’t.

Kei was fidgety, restless. Annoyed by everything even more so than usual. His mind kept straying to the stranger that called Kei’s name so intimately teasingly and looked at him with eyes full of heartbreak and wonder.

None of it made any sense.

The bell on the door rang merrily and Hitoka came inside, almost tripping under the mass of paper bags she was carrying. They smelled absolutely divine, like sugar and raisins and chocolate.

“For the lunch crowd!” she said cheerfully, placing the load on the counter. Tadashi leaned over it, and with an absolutely besotted look on his face, placed a tender kiss on Hitoka’s cheek, causing the girl to blush darker than the bright pink shirt she was wearing.

This, too, was part of the routine. As was the double chocolate chip cookie placed carefully into Kei’s hands, still warm, and the friendly smile that accompanied it, even warmer. “Hello, Kei-kun. How is grad school treating you?”

Dutifully, Kei updated Hitoka on all that’s happened since she’d gone to visit her mother in the Miyagi countryside, making only one jab at Tadashi’s pathetic pining after her. He liked the girl, had known her since middle school, when she stood up for Tadashi, going against her own fears and shy nature. Tadashi had been in love ever since.

Why someone like Hitoka, the prim and proper daughter of a respected graphic designer, chose to stick with two friendless boys from the system, Kei didn’t know. But he was grateful, to this day.

And not just because of the cookies and the coffee.

“What Tsukki forgot to mention is that he’s got himself an admirer,” Tadashi said. “Though we’re still debating whether he’s a serial killer or not.”

“A serial killer?!”

Kei shot Tadashi a glare. It didn’t have any effect. “At this point, I’m hoping he is.”

“Because you’ll finally get to talk to him? You know how chatty they get right before they murder their victims.”

Hitoka took a seat. “Well, if this is your choice of get-to-know-you, I can see why you declined every single date we’ve tried to arrange for you.”

Maybe the man _was_ a serial killer and maybe he _was_ going to finally put Kei out of this misery.

He swiped another cookie and continued to hope.

 

-

 

Apparently, whoever was in charge of the universe had been listening. Because bright and early on Saturday, when Kei was manning the cash register while Tadashi had to run out for a few emergency errands, the strange man came back.

Kei didn’t miss the way he’d paused in the doorway, just for a second, to take a steadying breath, the sound of it audible in the empty coffee shop. But Kei was robbed of a chance to ponder it further when the man sauntered straight to the seat that was Kei’s.

“I didn’t know you worked here.”

“I don’t,” Kei said, twisting a towel in his hands. Where the hell was Tadashi? “What would it be today?”

“So cold!” the stranger teased, but the stiff set of his shoulders ruined the effect. So did the staged carelessness with which he placed his chin on his stacked fists, plastering himself all over the countertop. He was wearing red today, the colour looking ridiculously stunning on him. “Earl Grey, extra-large, with milk.”

If Kei had thought that making the order would give him a much-needed reprieve, he was wrong—those sharp cat-like eyes didn’t leave him once. Not as he reached for the tea leaves on the shelf above the coffee machine, not as he steeped them in a heavy black cup, not as he poured the milk.

“Is there a reason you look so afraid, _Tsukki?_ ” the man asked softly as he brought the cup closer.

“It’s Tsukishima,” Kei said. “And I’m not afraid. I’m cautious, since my friend thinks you’re a serial killer.”

The man choked on his tea. Smiling sweetly, Kei offered him a napkin.

“And what do you think?”

“That he would never forgive me if I got blood on this wood. It’s a pain to clean.”

The man’s laugh was sudden, and maybe that’s why Kei’s heart skipped a beat. Then another. “Is that all?”

“No,” Kei found himself saying, feeling that same _pull_ again, the same longing that didn’t make any sense. But it was just him and the man, on a sunny Saturday morning that smelled of fresh coffee and lemon cookies, and Kei had nothing to lose. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“It’s Kuroo. Tetsurou.”

“Kuroo,” Kei repeated under his breath. And maybe it was just his imagination, but the sunshine that spilled through the windows became a little bit brighter.

 

-

 

Tetsurou’s hands were shaking as he stepped into the Faery. He let go of his glamour on instinct alone and smiled at the phoukas scurrying down the hallways with baskets of food and flowers out of sheer habit. It wouldn’t do to be rude. It wouldn’t do to raise suspicion. Not now, not when he finally—

“You found him.”

Akaashi’s voice was a soft greeting in the dark as soon as the door to his apartments was shut and warded behind Tetsurou. The spring fae was sitting on a low velvet armchair next to a row of floor-to-ceiling windows that had the best view of the rose gardens. In the mornings, they smelled intoxicating.

Tetsurou didn’t pay his favoured view much attention now, going straight for the crystal decanter on the glass coffee table filled with sweet summer wine. He didn’t even bother with a glass. Utterly drained, he fell into the other armchair and rubbed his eyes as if that would chase away the exhaustion.

His hands were still shaking.

“He doesn’t know who I am, Akaashi. For a week, I sat there, for hours, in his constant line of sight, and he didn’t even recognize me.”

“We knew it was a possibility.”

Yes, they did. But it had been just that—a possibility. Something Tetsurou had registered but refused to entertain. It had been too painful a thought.

And it hadn’t come even close to the moment Kei had finally looked up from his many notebooks with those beautiful golden eyes of his. To see nothing but a stranger in Tetsurou.

Each time after that had been another stab in the heart, the knives twisting and turning, going deeper with each breath taken in Kei’s presence.

Tetsurou took another swing of the wine; it tasted rich and fruity in his mouth, with subtle hints of winter berries.

It was Kei’s favourite, had always been. Sometimes he would get drunk on it and dance and dance and dance, like one of the summer fae. Only he would do it amidst the sparkling mounds of snow, myriad of snowflakes flying in his wake, with nothing but the twinkling stars against inky black sky watching him. And Tetsurou would be just as drunk, but not on the wine.

Those had been the happiest moments of his life.

And now they were nothing but a memory.

“You found him, Kuroo. After twenty-three years of searching, _you found him._ ”

“Akaashi,” Tetsurou said, because he trusted him to tell the truth. “What if—”

“We’ll find a way. Now that you know where he is, we can start digging deeper. I’ll go to summer tomorrow; their libraries must have something.”

“We don’t even know what spell was used.”

“Nothing on him?”

Tetsurou shook his head. An entire week, and nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except for pain and regret and this sudden burst of hope.

Because Akaashi was right. Now he knew where Kei was. And he was never losing sight of him again.

Akaashi leaned back in his chair with all the grace of a high fae. All the beauty, too. “Tell me. How he is.”

The tone of his voice struck something deep in Tetsurou. Sometimes, deep in his grief, he forgot that he wasn’t the only one who lost Kei. “Exactly the same,” he said, feeling the beginnings of a smile despite himself. “You know that frown of his? First thing he gave me this time around, too. It’s like some things just never change.”

“You were staring creepily at him, weren’t you?”

“I was not!”

But they both knew better. Came with being childhood friends, the centuries-old kind. Distant cousins, too.

Tetsurou felt himself relax into the comfort of that.

Here was a person who _understood._ Who had been there from the very beginning, through all the glorious craze, to the eventual unforeseen tragedy. Who, too, paid the price.

And who was going to help him bring Kei back home. Safely.


	2. Chapter 2

The summer court was not Keiji's favourite place in Faery. But it was a beautiful one.

Everywhere, there was water that stretched far, far into the horizon, where it fell in endless waterfalls, into the nothing beyond. Bright azure waves lapped gently, soothingly at the white-sanded shore, as if lulling into the belief that this was paradise and not hell. A lone kelpie lounged in the bubbling shallows, rid of its human disguise for no mortal could ever tread these particular seas.

Even more beautiful was the summer capital itself. Dark leafy greens cascaded wildly from tall pillared buildings. Brightly coloured blossoms permeated the air with softly floral aromas and a faint hint of something citrusy. Gentle breeze rustled sheer gossamer curtains on windows that had no glass. Noise and movement and laughter filled the cobblestoned streets that circled the grand summer palace in the centre of it all. A labyrinth of pristine white stone and dark cool shadows. Who knew what lurked in them. Stories said Seelie were the good fae, but Keiji certainly knew better. He was, after all, a Seelie himself.

His feet sunk into the warm sand as he stood at the border, waiting. Watching.

Few could pass the wards that guarded the city undetected; fewer still got an invitation to step inside this place at the edge of the world. But Keiji had the best possible escort.

"Akaashi!" The joy with which the heir apparent greeted him sent a shock down his spine. But Keiji had long ago become an expert at ignoring it.

"Lord Bokuto," he answered politely.

"Aw, c'mon, 'Kaashi, I told you to drop the formalities, at least a century ago," Bokuto whined. Muted silks, typical of summer court fashion, were wrapped tight around his body, leaving his shoulders and arms completely bare to the scorching sun. And when he walked, Keiji could see glimpses of muscled tanned legs. His throat went dry. The way it always did—and had little to do with the heat. "You don't call Kuroo a lord."

No, he didn’t. Because long before _family_ and _future ruler_ , Kuroo was a friend. Keiji’s father had always held a close position at the High Lord’s side, drenched deep in the politics of the spring court. So when his mate had finally granted him an heir, it was only natural that the child would be assigned to young lord Kuroo as a personal guard and future right hand. Neither of which Kuroo had deemed necessary at the time, seeing as he had been five.

He hadn’t changed much in the following centuries.

Bokuto was a friend too, which to this day amazed Keiji. As Seelie courts, spring and summer maintained a strong relationship. A few decades older than Kuroo, Bokuto was therefore a frequent guest in the spring mansion. The amount of trouble the pair of them had gotten in as younglings had Keiji almost convinced he would forever be a babysitter. Almost, because somehow, with his genuine smile and warm eyes and loud voice, Bokuto not once failed to convince Keiji to join in whatever ridiculous endeavour they had planned for the day, even something as foolish as hunting a bogey on the back of a winter wyvern. With frightening ease.

And that was precisely why the level of formality had to be maintained. A border to separate dreams from reality. Or Keiji might as well drown himself in the vast deep sea.

"If you don't stop pouting, people might actually arrest me."

"No need to worry! I'll always save you."

Keiji did not doubt that, which only further proved that being near Bokuto was dangerous. He made Keiji want to _believe_ , and Keiji wasn’t ready to do that again.

Kuroo and Tsukishima, after all, had believed too.

Yet there he was. Walking along busy summer streets next to the future High Lord, conscious of every suspicious stare and whisper, into the very heart of summer territory. To the ancient libraries locked in a tower that touched the skies. Knowledge was a weapon, and summer guarded theirs with deceptiveness of a calm sea. Keiji had seen it turn into a tsunami only once.

It had only cost them everything.

Out of a silly habit that he couldn't quite learn how to break, Keiji paused at the bottom of the grand elaborately carved steps before the entrance to the tower. The massive double doors depicted stories and myths of old, from time long before the courts had been divided and the High King vanquished in favour of four High Lords that oversaw their own courts. Each time Keiji took a look at the statues protruding from ancient stone, so intricate and detailed they looked  _alive_ , he saw something new. A beast about to devour a maiden. A hero on his knees. A mortal at the foot of a cauldron, at the mercy of a fae queen.

Beautiful, and terrifying.

Maybe they had been alive, once upon a time. High Lord of Winter certainly had boasted a garden of ice statues that used to be his enemies. Some said they were still alive, encased in eternal ice. Faces forever frozen in terror.

A warm, big hand clasped his. When Keiji turned to look, he saw the broad familiar grin that warmed him more than any fire magic of the autumn court.And because he was weak, so utterly weak, he allowed Bokuto to lead him inside, not once letting go of his hand.

 

-

 

They found the other summer heir lounging on the plush silk pillows, looking out the big glassless window, towards the sky that melted into the sea in vibrant splashes of yellow and purple and pink. An open book lay forgotten on his lap.

"Eita!"

Not for the first time, Keiji was struck by how different the two lords were. The lack of physical resemblance could be attributed to different fathers—both murdered at the High Lady’s order a long time ago, irrelevant—but it was everything else that Keiji paid actual attention to. Where Bokuto was loud vibrant energy of the sun, Semi was rapid currents of a mighty river. Bokuto hated court politics, to the point of having run away on multiple occasions. Semi did too but navigated them with an ease and a smile of a lord regardless. Bokuto was the heir, Semi was not.

In neither could Keiji see much of the High Lady.

He bowed low when Semi turned their way in greeting but still caught the flash of something solemn and deep before those beautiful features eased into neutrality. It wasn’t hard to guess the cause—it hadn’t been that long since the mating ceremony.

As if reading his mind, Bokuto said, “We’re looking for your lovely wife.”

Semi made a face. “Will you stop calling him that?”

“Nope, never. His face turns this weird greenish colour when I do. It’s fascinating.”

Keiji knew that if actually asked, Bokuto would stop in a heartbeat. But Semi wasn’t serious, and Shirabu still thought their marriage was nothing but an arrangement that strengthened the alliance between their families. From what Keiji had seen, he’d been avoiding both Bokuto and Semi in the months following the week-long celebrations.

Maybe that’s why he was so blind to the way Semi looked at him.

“When he finally snaps and drowns you with his magic, it will be on you only.”

“He’s too adorable to ever resort to that and you know it.”

“Not if he heard you now.”

Bokuto just rocked back on his heels, subdued and content. He always did like being surrounded by those he considered close. “So, where is he?”

It wasn’t a strange question, since they were on the upper levels of the tower. In summer court, music and wine flowed day and night. Sunsets and sunrises were met with equal amounts of revelry and cheer. Dancing did not stop even in times of war. And the magnificent summer gardens below were never void of fae folk.

But the flutes and the violins did not reach the tower. The countless libraries within it were quiet and empty, warded with silencing spells and deadly traps. The topmost levels in particular, with their breath-taking views and darkest of tomes, were accessible only to very selected few. Shirabu happened to be one of them, even before he had the arguable honour of marrying into the family.

Semi nodded in the direction of a balcony that overlooked the city from so high above that it seemed to be shrouded in misty clouds. Notions of might had always been a vice of their race.

Bokuto made for the pillared entrance, tugging Keiji gently by the hand that he was still holding firmly in his.

“He tried, Akaashi. For weeks after your last visit, he’d gone through every location spell known to our kind.” It was the no-nonsense tone underlying Semi’s words that made Keiji pause; much like Bokuto, Semi didn’t care for formalities and hierarchies among friends. “If Tsukishima is alive, he isn’t on this side of the veil.” He was kind enough not to mention anything about moving on. 

Understanding it anyway, Bokuto stiffened.

“No, he isn’t,” Keiji agreed. But didn’t add, _He isn’t fae at all. And we don’t know if he ever will be again._ Not because he doubted Semi’s loyalty, but because he himself had not yet come to terms with that information. Nor was he willing to accept it.

They’d failed Tsukishima once. They would not do that again.

Semi’s eyes widened imperceptibly as the realisation dawned. He leaned forward, the book on his lap thudding to the floor. “I’ll be damned! Kuroo found him. How? _Where_? And where is he now?”

Keiji knew he was gripping Bokuto’s hand too tightly, painfully, but he couldn’t let go. And Bokuto wasn’t protesting. “Safe.”

For now.

The thought of Tsukishima alone in the human realm, stuck in a mortal body, defenceless and blind… Even with precautions Kuroo had taken after his initial shock had worn off and minimal information had been gathered, it did not sit well. For his own piece of mind, Keiji needed to go there, to see the situation for himself. Maybe even stay. Only he couldn’t risk attracting the attention they were so desperately trying to avoid by doing so.

Feeling helpless was steadily becoming the norm. Keiji hated every second of it.

“Then why are you here?” Shirabu’s voice was as tight as the expression on his face. He stood on the threshold between inside and outside, as if unsure of crossing it. He made a jerky bow in Bokuto’s general direction and wasn’t at all discreet at how studiously he was ignoring Semi’s narrowed eyes on him.

 _Not blind_ , Keiji thought. _Simply too afraid to look._

It was something he understood far too well.

“We’re looking for a spell.”

Even particularly surly, Shirabu could not resists people coming to him for his knowledge of magic. It was a well-known fact among those who actually bothered getting to know him. Already, he was visibly letting go of whatever it was between him and Semi to focus on a new problem to solve. “What kind of spell?”

“A sealing. The kind I’ve never seen before.”

“A sealing of what? Powers? Memories?”

“Both.”

The frown between Shirabu’s eyebrows deepened. He stepped inside, closer to the company. “Who cast it?”

Keiji hesitated only for a moment; he might not know Shirabu well enough to trust him with something so important, but Bokuto did, and so Keiji would do the same. He looked straight into Shirabu’s eyes, unflinching, as he said, “Tsukishima Akiteru.”

The silence that fell was heavy with implications. And regrets.

Semi broke it with a soft rustle of silks as he got up from his seat. “Give us the details.”

As Keiji followed the three summer fae into the endless depths of the library, to a room where no creature could eavesdrop on his tale, he could only hope that whatever dark Unseelie magic had been used, it wasn’t irreversible.

And that Kuroo wasn’t doing something reckless in the meantime.

 

-

 

Tetsurou was, in fact, considering doing something very, very reckless. Like pulling Kei close by his neck and kissing the breath out of him, desperately, greedily—lovingly. Like seeing whether his lips were still the softest, and his taste the sweetest, and his tongue most wicked still. Like hugging him so tight he would feel each beat of Tetsurou’s heart and _know_ that he would never, ever be lost again.

Maybe those morbid mortal tales had some truth to them. Maybe true love’s kiss really was all that was needed for a happy ever after.

And maybe the past two decades of Tetsurou’s life had been nothing but a nightmare—unbearable, but gone once he opened his eyes.

“You’re staring.”

They were sitting at Kei’s preferred counter corner, away from the ever-shifting line of customers trickling into _Yachi’s,_ desperate for a sugar and caffeine fix. There were heavy thick books in front of him, as usual, but he’d abandoned them at Tetsurou’s no doubt peeving insistence. And as usual, he’d punched the air out of Tetsurou’s lungs the moment their eyes met.

“You’re pretty.”

The annoyed click of Kei’s tongue was a sharp stab in the chest. “Does this line actually work?”

 _It did on you_ , Tetsurou wanted to say. _Once upon a time. On a winter solstice, amidst evergreen trees and flickering will-o'-wisps, under a stormy night sky, when the wild hunt was about to begin, and you were the most beautiful creature of all._

Across the counter, Freckles coughed indiscreetly. He’d moved closer to make an order for the affectionate couple waiting at the cash register and seemed amused.

Tetsurou didn’t know how to feel about the boy.

On the one hand, from what he had seen, he was clearly a friend to Kei, and a good one at that. Teasing but balancing. Loyal. From the start, he’d regarded Tetsurou with warranted suspicion. Yet also nudged Kei gently towards him.

On the other, this Kei was not real, and neither was the life he’d been living.

The scowl he sent his friend, however, was exactly as Tetsurou remembered. Freckles winced, not exactly apologetically, and hurried back to his customers with two steaming take-away cups in each hand.

“So,” Tetsurou said conversationally, rolling a half-empty tea mug between his sweaty palms. “We’ve already established I’m not a serial killer. I know your name, you know mine. I say it’s time we tried spicing up our blossoming relationship.”

He knew. Of course he knew that he had to give Kei time, to take it slow, because Kei had always needed to do things at his own pace.

But Tetsurou couldn’t do that. And he wished—oh, how he wished—that he could say the reason for it was the war that they needed Kei to help them prevent from happening. But Tetsurou was never in the business of delusion. The simple selfish truth of it was: he wanted Kei back. Needed him more than he needed air or sustenance.

Time was a funny thing, he’d learned. Centuries of shared memories were a blink of an eye against the twenty-three years he’d had of missing Kei. Of waking up in the middle of the night, in cold sweat, unsure of where Kei was. If he was even alive.

Just as he’d learned that emptiness could hurt more than any physical wound.

But now Kei was right there, a mere arm’s reach away. Solid. Touchable. _Not a dream._

“What relationship, Kuroo-san?”

“Rude, Tsukki.” Despite everything, he couldn’t help the smile. It was so easy to be happy with Kei beside him. “Here I was, making all sorts of plans for our future.”

“Oh my god, you’re not a killer, you’re a stalker.”

“No, I’m offering you dinner. With the best strawberry shortcake in town for dessert. It’s your favourite, right?”

He realised his mistake only when Kei went rigid beside him. “…how do you know that?”

_I once saw you devour an entire tray of them and ask for more. Bokuto still thinks it was a fluke and that you’ve secretly fed them to the redcaps serving the food, though I have no idea why anyone would do that. Those things are vicious._

But of course, Tetsurou couldn’t exactly say that. So he’d leaned on the counter, propping his cheek against his own hand, and tried to look as casual as possible. “An educated guess. How did I do?”

Kei did not look convinced, but at least he wasn’t leaving either so Tetsurou counted that as a success. “So well it’s absolutely creepy.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

“It’s a please stop incriminating yourself.”

“C’mon, Tsukki. What have you got to lose?”

“My life?”

_No, moonshine, you’re about to get it back._

“So, what you’re saying is you’re afraid. Of a date.” Tetsurou hummed thoughtfully. “Never would’ve guessed.”

The way those amber eyes narrowed sent a thrill down Tetsurou’s body. Still the loveliest in the universe and so achingly familiar, even hidden behind thick glass lenses and without their otherworldly shine.

“One dinner. That’s all.”

When Freckles came back for another order, he was smiling, just a little.

 

-

 

Kei entered his dark and empty apartment on the outskirts of town late that evening. Due to a terrible case of migraine, Hitoka had been forced to go home after the lunch rush. And what a battle that had been, requiring both Tadashi and Kei to fight it. For someone so tiny, Hitoka sure had a lot of stubbornness in her. Kei almost missed the shy stuttering mess she’d been as a teenager.

That left Tadashi alone at the coffee shop, so Kei offered to stay and help with closing up. He’d swiped the tables and the floor while Tadashi took care of the kitchen and the money. Then they’d grabbed a late dinner at the nearest izakaya. Hitoka was asleep so Tadashi didn’t want to wake her by stomping in the kitchen, and Kei… Kei didn’t like being in his apartment in general.

Eventually, though, he did have to go back.

But by then it was already so late that he only had enough energy for a quick shower before he fell onto his bed, drowning the silence with music blasting from his headphones.

Something felt missing.

It was a familiar feeling that struck unfailingly whenever he was all alone, stuck inside these four white walls that had no pictures on them. This place never did feel like home. Not once.

And as Kei closed his tired eyes, his only thought was that _Kuroo did._

How ridiculous.

 

-

 

He dreamed of monsters that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case my in-fic explanations weren't enough, which certainly wouldn't surprise me, fae are generally split into Seelie or light ones and Unseelie or dark ones. Here they are further split into four seasonal courts: summer and spring (seelie) and autumn and winter (unseelie). Each is ruled by a High Lord and/or Lady. Only the high-level fae have somewhat human appearances.
> 
> I apologise if some things are confusing. And I know I mention a few creatures without really describing them. But there are reasons for that, and they aren't laziness, I swear. Or well, not just laziness lol. I tried to stick to the most common ones, like kelpies and bogeys. But if something is really bothering you, talk to me in the comments and I'll do my best to explain.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and for the lovely feedback on the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

Once upon a time, dinners at the spring mansion had been a grand boisterous affair. Unlike wild summer festivities in their nature, but certainly with enough flair to summon anyone who mattered.

Sitting at the crowded table now, expression just the right amount of bored, Keiji observed.

Abundance and stagnancy, those were the two things that described all four fae courts in control of these parts of the realm. Just as the seasons did not change, bound to the vast magic of each reigning ruler, the high fae did not age, blessed with eternal life in beauty and prosperity. Until aeons of memories and knowledge drove them to the brink of insanity. And straight to the Cauldron, where they would take just one sip—to forget it all. Be reborn in all but their immortal bodies. Ignorant of everything they’ve done in the past.

And so it was the same fae folk gathered under the high vaulted ceiling of the lavish dining hall, sipping on exquisite autumn wines from tall crystal glasses that sparkled in the warm afternoon sun. Spring birds chirped merrily in tune with lilting chatter and hushed laughter. Through wide open windows that lined tapestried walls, luscious pink roses spilled in intoxicating heaps, overpowering even the delicious smell of food assembled intricately on the table. Behind gilded frames, bright green hills rolled gently into the misty horizon. No cloud marred the perfect blue sky.

Everything as it has always been, as it always will be. _Home_.

Keiji’s family had been part of the innermost political circle of spring for generations, serving its High Lords with unquestionable loyalty and plenty of personal gain. One day, Keiji himself would be sitting where his father did now, right beside the High Lord at the head of the table, always ready to spring into action. Perhaps in a few centuries, for Kuroo’s father was still young, if weary.

It showed. Not on his handsome face, void of any imperfections, not even in his posture, regal and full of fae arrogance. But in the tense undercurrent that lingered behind meaningless talk and polite smiles of those gathered in the room. Particularly his own son.

Rage. Shame. Disappointment. Grief and pity.

They trickled off Kuroo in steady, slow-burning waves, hidden so well under feline smirks and teasing remarks. Shadowed by love.

He never did do things easy. Not when he dealt with his family, not when he made friends, not when he fell in love.

And that was why Keiji had to keep his watch. Kuroo’s mastery of provocation kept his emotions safely away from the prying greedy eyes, but he never did learn the ruthless ways of getting rid of his vulnerabilities. Keiji couldn’t take chances, not now—a wrong glance, even a hint of suspicion from anyone present, and he would take care of it. Before anyone else had the chance to strike.

Because it wasn’t just him on high alert that evening, or any other for the past two decades. Some, Keiji knew, were still high from the victory of that horrible night, thirsty for more blood. Eager to take what they thought was theirs. But others were afraid.

The balance had been tipped. What if someone decided to even it out?

It wasn’t a secret that the High Lord of Autumn had long ago retired from his duties, even if not officially—his court still largely fed off his magic. But it was his nephew in charge of everything else and he was a whole another force to be reckoned with. He wasn’t going to get caught unaware, either. Not after winter.

_Tsukishima. They needed Tsukishima._

A heavy hand fell on Keiji’s knee, squeezed it gently under the table. Comforting, warning. Causing Keiji to suck in a breath. He didn’t need to look to know that Bokuto’s grin hadn’t faltered and his eyes hadn’t left the green-skinned tree nymph that was so blatantly trying to flirt with him. The multitude of colourful butterflies in her long curly hair fluttered in excitement.

Keiji took a small sip of his wine and squeezed Bokuto’s knee right back, twice as hard.

“Akaashi!”

The indignant shout was far too loud for the present company, but this was Bokuto, so no one bothered beyond glancing. The nymph was promptly forgotten as the summer heir turned to Keiji with a wounded expression on his face.

The attention shouldn’t have made Keiji feel so pleased, so warm inside, but it did. It was petty, and it was selfish, and Bokuto did not deserve it, but he couldn’t help himself. Cauldron knew he tried.

They’d returned to spring not that long ago, Keiji unwilling to spend another night under the ever-watchful eyes of summer fae. Semi and Shirabu, though still studiously not talking to each other, had agreed to keep looking for anything even remotely resembling what had been done to Tsukishima. But Bokuto had tagged along, both to see Kuroo and to smuggle a few tomes for Akaashi.

The first few hours back had been spent catching up with Kuroo and his most recent venture into the human realm, in dangerous proximity to Bokuto and his excited demeanour. Like Keiji, he hadn’t had a chance to see Tsukishima in person and was therefore greedy for any information. Keiji had been the one to suggest going for a ride, both to keep up the illusion of normalcy and to get Kuroo away from the suffocation of his bedroom, having noted the slight trembling of his hands and the haunted look in his eyes.

It went fine, at first. The ancient forest trail they’d picked was long and winding. Cool breeze felt soothing and freeing on heated skin. Dense crowns of massive trees twisted together to form a roof that allowed the sunlight to pour in brilliant patches of warmth.  It was in that intimate dimness, surrounded by gentle rustling of trees and steady clacking of hooves that Keiji had realised his mistake. The path was just narrow enough to allow two horses side by side. For some inexplicable reason, Bokuto stayed behind with Keiji, leaving Kuroo to lead. With the leisurely pace they’d settled on, it resulted in occasional bumping of limbs that Keiji hadn’t been prepared for. Followed by easy apologetic smiles on Bokuto’s lips. His eyes blazed gold.

When Kuroo finally started to talk, Keiji could barely hear the words over the crazy beat of his own heart.

Getting out of the forest had been a blessing and a curse. Grassy fields of an empty clearing allowed their horses to spread out, then race along the sandy edge of a lake, water splashing in their wake.

Keiji had won out of pure spite.

It was ridiculous, really, how much Bokuto’s sheer presence could affect him. Like a cat curled up to a source of heat, he wanted to bask in the indescribable feeling of being the sole focus of Bokuto’s attention.

Maybe it should’ve been Keiji flirting with nymphs and dryads.

Except he’d tried that before. And all it had accomplished was the devastating knowledge that he was utterly, irrevocably in love. Facing Bokuto after that had been like standing in the desert, next to a forbidden oasis.

And one of these days, Keiji was going to simply fuck it all and greedily drink as much as his parched self demanded, consequences be damned.

 

-

 

“You’re hopeless.”

Tetsurou gave Akaashi a look. “And you are not helping. Why are you not helping?”

Akaashi did not deign that with a response, maybe because Tetsurou looked _that_ pathetic sprawled on the plush white rug of his bedroom floor, stuffing tiny fish cakes into his mouth at even intervals. They were good cakes.

And he had his reasons, of course. When Tetsurou had asked Kei out on a date, he forgot to take into account one crucial detail: he had no idea what humans even did on dates. Or talked about. Taking into consideration fae aversion to iron and technology… His choices were truly limited.

Hence, the cakes.

Hanging off the edge of Tetsurou’s bed, Bokuto patted him on the chest, then stole a fish cake while Tetsurou was busy coughing. “You’ve already had a first date. Just do a repeat. Maybe it’ll even juggle his memory.”

Tetsurou gave him a dirty look. “This is why you’re still single.”

Bokuto’s offended huff was as amusing as the not-at-all-subtle glance he cast in Akaashi’s direction.

_Honestly, these two._

Some days they made Tetsurou want to do something preposterously juvenile, like locking the two of them in a closet. A very tiny one, so they would have to talk or risk combusting from all the touching.

The only reason he hadn’t done that yet was because Kei would never, ever let him live down the lack of imagination. Or the fact that he’d already grossly underestimated the lengths to which both Bokuto and Akaashi were ready to take their obvious pining and therefore lost a bet to Semi, as Kei had predicted he would. He couldn’t wait to have Kei back and tell him all about it.

“Repeating _that_ would be too low even for Kuroo’s already very low standards.” Lounging sideways on the sofa, feet tucked into the seam of the side arm, Akaashi was most definitely smirking. Tetsurou resisted flinging a pillow at him only because of the old spell book Akaashi was perusing. And because that would require moving.

And maybe because Akaashi did have a point—it’s not like Tetsurou could “just do a repeat” even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.

The first time he and Kei had taken that final, conscious plunge into _something more_ had been after years and years of dancing around each other, of pushing and pulling, of teasing and pleasing. They ended up making love right there, in the secluded meadow, amidst fragrant lilies-of-the-valley, heavy drops of morning dew clinging to their skin. They watched the sun rise tangled in each other. Kei had glowed.

No memory could capture that.

It would be useless to try. Not even if Kei did have some temporary amnesia that could be reversed with the right trigger instead of the highest level of spell work blocking his very essence.

Besides, even if Kei’s life for the past twenty-three years had been nothing but a lie, it was still Kei. _His Kei._ Who deserved love and affection and effort. Who deserved _everything_.

He remembered the day he’d stumbled upon Kei in Sendai like a blur of painful flashes mixed with bright spots of elation that stopped his heart from beating. But after the white noise stopped filling his head and his legs could finally move—after his lungs got enough air to simply _breathe_ , he had stayed in the human realm to glean what information he could. It hadn’t been much, but it was enough to make Tetsurou want to destroy.

Tsukishima Kei was a scholarship student at Tohoku University, currently doing his masters and working part-time to afford the tiny studio apartment at the edge of town. His classmates were charmed easily but had little to share; Tsukishima didn’t like socialising much. What few friends he had were from childhood. Two of them owned the coffee shop at which Tsukishima seemed to spend most of his free time. He didn’t date either, mournfully supplied his co-worker at the music store.

He had no family.

Because barely a month-old Tsukishima Kei had been abandoned on the steps of an orphanage. He had been wrapped in a blanket, with nothing but his name embroidered in neat cursive on the fringed corner. He went from foster home to foster home, where he eventually met Yamaguchi Tadashi and saved him from a group of older bullies. He had never been adopted, and no one could explain why. It’s as if some force was constantly preventing it from happening, one of the social workers confided in Tetsurou.

His stomach lurched at the memory. His chest ached at the reality.

“Maybe he’ll forget it all. Once we lift the spell. When he’s Kei again.”

Bokuto slid further off the bed, his hair almost touching the floor. Tetsurou swatted at his hand when he caught it touching the plate on his belly again. “The date?”

“Living as a human.”

No one said anything to that. Tetsurou reached for another fish cake. In the periphery, he saw the unreadable expression on Akaashi’s face, eyes dark and pensive.

“What?”

Akaashi shook his head. “…nothing. It’s nothing.”

Tetsurou wasn’t sure how such a look could mean nothing, but he didn’t push. Akaashi would tell him when he was ready.

“We’re running out of time, Akaashi. I have to take him to Faery. We have to see what happens.”

“I know,” Akaashi agreed. He sounded weary. “Here. This will allow him to pass the veil undetected.” With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a tiny vial that had clear liquid inside it. Tetsurou sat up, food forgotten and snatched immediately by Bokuto’s greedy clutches.

As Tetsurou took the potion carefully, preciously into his hands, Akaashi went on, “It will also lift the glamour. You have to be careful about what you allow him to see. And I’m not talking about your pointy ears.”

He knew that, of course. But he couldn’t get annoyed at Akaashi for telling him again. Or for sounding so deadly serious, when all Tetsurou wanted to do was to shout from the highest mountain peak in the realm that Kei was coming home. Because Akaashi was right, because he knew how Tetsurou got around Kei—how easy it was to forget everything when exposed to that face, and that smile, and that laugh that was purer than any magic Tetsurou had ever wielded or witnessed.

“Kuroo, focus.”

Tetsurou snapped out of the memory. Softly, seriously, he said, “It will be fine, Akaashi. I promise.”

Behind him, Bokuto let out an agreeing cheer that brought a smile to both their faces. Soon, they’ll all see Kei soon. “Now, let’s do some planning.”

 

-

 

It was well past midnight when Keiji and Bokuto left Kuroo exhausted and asleep on messily made bed, head stuck between two decorative pillows, legs tangled in a furry quilt.

Their steps echoed hollowly as they walked down the moonlit hallway to the opposite end of the wing. It had been Kuroo’s idea to have Keiji’s rooms far from his, to give them both privacy.

In the past, when Tsukishima and Kuroo were still tiptoeing that fragile line between friends and lovers, Tsukishima would sometimes sneak into the spring mansion and they would all pile on the massive four-poster bed. And as first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, they would fall asleep in haphazard clusters of limbs. Some of them would wake a few hours later, shivering but amused once they saw the shapeless lump in the middle.

Being completely immune to cold not once stopped Tsukishima from hogging every single blanket available. It was hard not to laugh, especially when it was bound to make Tsukishima click his tongue in annoyance and burrow further into the cocoon, not even bothering to open his eyes.

But it wouldn’t be laughter waking Kuroo up in the middle of the night now. That was why they couldn’t stay—some vulnerabilities were too personal. And as much as it made Keiji ache with helplessness, he understood.

So they had shut off the lights, pulled loose the curtains, and cast a silencing spell over the room before quietly closing the door. Praying that in the morning, Kuroo’s smile would be a little less tired. A lot more lasting.

“When was the last time he had a full night sleep?” Bokuto sounded even more solemn than he looked.

“When we tried the sleeping potion.”

Bokuto stopped. “That was months ago.”

And it had been bad. The potion had worked. Kuroo stayed asleep through the night. Only in the morning, when he woke up screaming his throat raw, did it become obvious what that had actually meant—an eternity of being stuck in every terror he’d ever imagined since the day Tsukishima had vanished without a trace. Every horror he saw after that. Every death.

Bokuto had broken the vial with his bare hands, black shards of glass tearing into skin. The potion was never suggested again.

“It’s been better since he’s found Tsukishima.”

They resumed walking again, both silent. It was unsettling to see Bokuto so quiet, so void of motion and energy. It didn’t feel right.

Keiji didn’t know what kind of comfort to offer, or if he even could in his current state of mind.

He trusted Kuroo, he did. There were simply too many variables that Keiji’s mind wasn’t comfortable with. Such as the potion. It was a simple one, created specifically for allowing mortals to trespass into the realm that they couldn’t possibly survive.

Fae were wicked, and cruel. But they didn’t want to see the beasts in their reflections, so they pretended to be something else. Even if it meant taking on appearances and habits of the very same creatures they considered entertainment at best, food source at worst.

How many mortals had Keiji seen with that glazed, glamoured look in their eyes, playing the piano, or painting a picture, or dancing for the fae. Until whoever took them finally got bored and let them go back home. Often to a place they didn’t recognise, with too many years having passed, their friends and families long ago buried in the soil.

But Tsukishima wasn’t mortal. No one had that kind of power, to turn something fae into human. Or human into fae. His appearance as a human child must’ve been one of Akiteru’s illusions; he’d always been exceptionally good at those. But underneath the glamour, locked under a spell, Tsukishima was still the youngest lord of the winter court, centuries old and devastatingly powerful.

Which is why Keiji had no idea what the potion would do to him. And why his mind was threatening to implode, predicting the possibilities. Calculating the outcomes.

“Akaashi.” At the sound of Bokuto’s voice, Keiji realised they’d stopped again, having reached his bedroom door. The guest suite Bokuto was staying in was a little further down the hallway, but he had mentioned going for a flight before tucking in. Which only served to remind Keiji how they all had their own monsters to face, and scars to prove it. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

Keiji met Bokuto’s owlishly blinking eyes dead on, and hesitated. Was it selfish of him, to want to rely on Bokuto so badly? To take what was so freely offered?

Bokuto frowned. “You’ll run yourself crazy if you keep it all to yourself, you know.”

In the moonlight, his hair looked ghostly white. The rest of him was but a shadowy silhouette in comparison.

The words shouldn’t have come so easy, but they did. “Kuroo seems to think that Tsukishima’s life for the past years hasn’t been real. As if it’s some sort of dream, a nightmare that will be forgotten. Like it never happened at all.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“Do you?”

Because fae or not, Tsukishima had been subjected to human perception of time, with a human mind. What to them was a blink of an eye, to Tsukishima it had been a lifetime—lived, experienced. Real.

“I think,” Bokuto said finally, “that our Tsukki is a smart boy. And that he loves Kuroo as much as Kuroo loves him. I think that it’s all going to be fine, in the end.”

Maybe it was the blinding honest grin, or maybe it was the affectionate brief hair ruffle, but as Keiji watched Bokuto shift into a magnificent snow-white owl that hooted a haunting farewell before soaring high into the night sky, he clung to those words with desperate hope.

And found himself believing them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Kuroo met Tsukki day!
> 
> I hope that was enough world-building and explanations for another century, or two. Good news is, things should be picking up speed in the next couple of chapters. Or so I hope.  
> (Bad news is, this means Akaashi will not get his much-needed vacation.)
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Cookies for anyone who can guess who the autumn heir is.


	4. Chapter 4

The silence was unbearable. And it’d been filling the space ever since Koutarou and Akaashi had left. Hours ago.

Not that Eita was keeping count. Merely, he was wishing the tower library hadn’t been as heavily warded against sound as it was. That some outside noise would penetrate the room, make the awkwardness slightly less prominent.

He turned another page. Aeons-old paper crinkled under his fingers.

Across from him, hidden behind massive but impeccably neat stacks of dark leather tomes, Shirabu did the same.

Silence and stillness. No hushed whispers to break the illusion of sacred that this secluded room at the top of the tower absolutely wasn’t, no easy movement now that Koutarou wasn’t there to provide it. It was a circular space, walls lined with books and parchment rolls arranged meticulously in who knew what order. But the centre of the room was void of any shelves—circled by tall pillars with stories carved into smooth white stone, a vibrant intricate mural lay under the sunlight spilling through the big flower-shaped opening in the high-vaulted ceiling.

A lifetime ago, before finally giving up, scholars had used this place to study ancient texts in languages long forgotten by their kind. Then Koutarou learned to shift and to fly. So did Eita. And this part of the castle had quickly become their favourite place to hang out, away from the court and the family. Calligraphy tools and manuscripts on glass pedestals had been replaced with plush pillows and low coffee tables. Where Eita and Shirabu were sitting now, bathed in pink as the sun bled red across the evening sky.

The ornate clock on the wall kept ticking steadily.

Eita sighed.

It’s must’ve come out heavier and louder than he’d intended, because Shirabu flinched imperceptibly at the sound, glanced up quickly. Quicker still, he looked back down, at another complicated memory spell Eita couldn’t hope to understand.

Silence again.

Except for the blasted clock.

Eita turned another page, suppressed another sigh.

It had been like this since the day of their mating ceremony. Avoided eye contact, the kind of awkwardness everyone pretended wasn’t there, words that sounded so forced it was easier not to say them at all.

And that was when Shirabu wasn’t avoiding him altogether. Which was the worst of all. Because then, Eita couldn’t even try. And he wasn’t completely tired of trying. Not yet.

 _Screw this,_ he thought. Sure, there were perks to observing Shirabu, knowing he would never be caught. Such as the displeased frown that was far, far too adorable for someone who detested being perceived as such. It reminded Eita of times when they had been kids and Shirabu had barely begun studying magic, diving into spells and potions with the kind of ferocity and determination that left Eita breathless with awe.

But that was then, and this was now.

_So, screw this._

“Anything?” he asked, breaking the unspoken pact to ignore each other and pretend they weren’t mated for life, immortal souls bound in an unbreakable vow.

This time, Shirabu did look up, as Eita hoped he would. Work was the only reason they talked these days.

“I have a few spells Akaashi might be interested in, but it’s hard to tell whether they’ll be of any actual use. Not without seeing Tsukishima for myself.”

Eita hummed in understanding but had nothing to add.

They hadn’t gotten all the details, just the basics, and Eita honestly couldn’t blame his brother. It wasn’t a question of trust and loyalty; Eita had proven that a long time ago, when he’d made a promise to help Koutarou keep the crown, rather than to go after it. More to himself than anyone else, because Koutarou had never doubted him in the first place. It probably had never even crossed his mind.

But the four of them—summer and winter and spring—had always fit like some weird puzzle together. Complicated and complete. _Not right_ with one of them missing.

“…do you think he’ll ever come back?”

It was the subdued, barely audible tone of Shirabu’s voice that made Eita push away the open book against which he had been subconsciously drumming his fingers, attention fully on Shirabu, with no barriers and no pretences. For once, Shirabu was not flinching away from it.

Eita had missed that. It had been such a common occurrence, back when Shirabu moved to the summer capital permanently, less than a century ago. He had been invited by the High Lady herself, for his excellence in offensive magic and strategy. As his friend, Eita had taken it upon himself to teach him the ways of the court. Now Shirabu navigated it better than Eita ever could.

“Sometimes I forget the two of you are friends. It’s that unbelievable.”

Shirabu scowled. “We are absolutely no such thing.”

The mock offence was such a Shirabu response that Eita didn’t even attempt to hold back a chuckle. Something between them eased at the sound. Familiarity settled in.

Eita shifted in his seat, leaning back on his outstretched arms. His neck hurt from being in the same position for so long. “Well, he’d better. Kuroo has lost his bet, quite spectacularly, but Tsukishima is still in the running. And I intend to win.”

The incredulity that flashed over Shirabu’s pretty face had no right to make him look that cute. “You bet that it would take Lord Bokuto another fifty years, _at least,_ to finally make a move.”

“You’ve seen them. It’s solidly in the realm of probability.”

Shirabu opened his mouth, closed it—unable to deny.

“Besides, Tsukishima thinks Akaashi will snap first. As possible as that is, I’ve had to listen to Kou moan about Akaashi’s eyes. And his face. And legs. Even the length of his eyelashes.”

“His eyelashes?”

“Just once, thank the cauldron. He was drunk.”

“That’s still gross.”

“It is. But to be fair, Akaashi is stupidly beautiful.” When Shirabu gave him a weird long look, Eita frowned. “…what? He is, and I’m just saying.”

Annoyance began licking at him when Shirabu said nothing, face blank.

“ _Shirabu_.”

“Lord Semi.”

Later, Eita would blame everything on the way Shirabu’s voice echoed his perfectly and his own weakness towards such blatant mockery. “It’s Eita now,” he said, far too intimately perhaps.

Shirabu busied himself with the loose silk covering his right arm, arranging the sleeve this way and that. It was a particularly pale shade of lilac, pretty against his skin and lacking any fancy sparkly ornaments. The only piece of jewellery Eita could see was the thin gold band of alternate leaves around his left bicep; Eita knew it had the crest of house Semi engraved somewhere on it along with Shirabu’s own.

“Shirabu,” Eita tried again, “don’t you think we should talk?”

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.”

“We’ve been mated for half a year.”

“Yes, we have.”

“And you’ve been avoiding me ever since. You won’t tell me what it is I did wrong, either.”

“I have not,” Shirabu protested, but they both knew that for a lie it was. Especially when he ignored the rest of the question.

Eita waited, patient for once. Too determined to know the answer to let his temper ruin it.

“What’s done is done,” Shirabu said at last, his posture tense. “We’re stuck together now, for all eternity. Talking won’t change any of that.”

And maybe it was a blessing, that Shirabu’s eyes were on anything but him.

“Stuck,” Eita repeated. “ _Stuck_.”

As if they were nothing but two nobles forced to mate by their power-thirsty families. As if Eita hadn’t been subtly flirting with him all this time, and Shirabu hadn’t reciprocated. As if they’d never even been friends.

A strange, hollow feeling began to spread from his chest. Eita felt cold.

“I see.”

Something must’ve had seeped into his voice because suddenly, Shirabu was looking up in alert. “Semi—”

But Eita wasn’t listening anymore. Didn’t care, either. He was shifting into his eagle form even before he was fully up on his feet. With a few flaps of his wings, he was out of the window, high up in the sky.

Well, at least now he had his answers. They sucked.

 

-

 

Kenjirou’s attention strayed. After Semi had left in a flurry of magic and feathers, he’d lasted less than an hour in the suddenly vast and empty library. He had thought that not having that heavy gaze on him constantly, to control his own reaction to it, would’ve made it easier to focus on work. He had been wrong. Words blurred together into splotches of faded ink as worry ate at him—worry that he’d said something to set Semi off, to hurt him.

Only he didn’t know what, as it hadn’t been his intention.

Rubbing harshly at his forehead, Kenjirou picked the few tomes that had most promising information on sealing magic and took the long route down. Unlike Semi and Bokuto and most of the royal bloodline, he lacked the ability to shift. But like most high fae possessing enough power, he could will himself to move through space, which made travelling to other courts a lot faster.

But the trek down the winding staircase in complete silence and nothing but the sound of his leather sandals hitting the stone provided him with the kind of monotony that he needed to stay sane. Sanity was not overrated, as Goshiki’s mere existence continued to prove every day.

“I take it Semi found you.”

The meeting room on the first floor had not been empty, but Kenjirou hadn’t expected it to be. He was just glad it was Taichi and not someone else. Like Tendou, who knew far, far too much, and wasn’t afraid of using that knowledge at the worst possible time.

Nightmares still haunted Kenjirou from that birthday picnic during which Tendou asked casually and far too loudly if he gave Semi a set of beautiful ruby earrings as a gift because he liked dressing Semi in pretty things. Which Kenjirou absolutely did not. It was Semi who had a thing for wearing beautiful stones in his ears, in abundance. Maybe because he looked so good in them.

Tendou had just hummed annoyingly in amusement and didn’t seem to believe a word of Kenjirou’s very honest denial.

Taichi, on the other hand, was full of crap. There was no way he could see Kenjirou from his weird sprawl on the chaise lounge, feet hanging off the side, arms thrown behind his head, neck twisted in what looked like a very painful position.

As if reading his mind, Taichi opened one sleepy eye. “You stomp when you’re mad.”

Kenjirou’s bemused expression went blatantly ignored. Which, he supposed, was just one of many reasons why he and Taichi got along so well.

With a roll of his eyes, Kenjirou took a seat at the big oval table cluttered with maps and tiny war figurines. He still had a few reports to go over, though none of them were urgent. He just liked to do his job well ahead of time.

“You do know all of your troubles would be solved if you just told him how disgustingly in love you are, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just as you’re not in denial, clearly.”

“Your input is greatly appreciated, Kawanishi.”

“I’m sure it is.”

Despite the sarcasm, it was actually the truth. Kenjirou did value Taichi’s opinion, even on this matter. It’s just that he didn’t agree with it.

It had been almost half a year since Semi and he had been sworn as mates. The festivities had gone on for weeks. Forest sprites had danced with such joy that flowers bloomed under their feet. Water nymphs had sung with such beauty that even the selkies had eventually joined their haunting choir.

And amidst it all, Kenjirou had felt sick. Because Semi probably didn’t even want this. Yet even he, for all his might and magic—his royal blood, could not say no to the High Lady.

If Kenjirou had been someone else, he would’ve given up his position at court and taken a long trip somewhere far. Maybe as far as the exile territory far north. Even if that meant dealing with the demon twins.

_Better them than Oikawa._

But he wasn’t anyone else. He was Shirabu Kenjirou, stubborn and dedicated. Tied to this place, to these people.

“Shirabu, you’re making weird faces again.”

“On the scale from one to sending Futakuchi to autumn as a peace negotiator, how much does my life suck if I’m considering moving in with the fox twins?”

Whatever response Taichi was about to give to Kenjirou’s embarrassing bout of dramatics was drowned by the sudden powerful bang of the door hitting the wall as it was thrown open. Pens rolled off the table at the force of the impact.

Goshiki stood panting in the doorway. His expressions had both Kenjirou and Taichi up on their feet before the words even left his mouth.

“There’s an unseelie at the city border. We’re under attack.”

 

-

 

At first, Eita hadn’t understood. At first, he only saw white.

He’d been soaring high in the night sky, knowing only the icy cold air in his lungs, the rush of wind at the flap of his wings, the bright twinkle of stars all around him. The white mass of _something_ gathering at the edge of the city border didn’t register right away.

Curious, he swooped down.

That’s when he heard it—silence. Complete and utter silence that was _wrong, wrong, wrong_. No splashes of water from merfolk returning with prey in their bloody teeth. No howls and growls from nocturnal folk on the cusp of awakening. No chatter from high fae on romantic late-night strolls on the beach.

Only thick white fog, raising like a tide from still dark waters.

_What in the world…?_

Normally, Eita would entertain the thought of his mother being in a mood and messing with the weather, perhaps as a punishment. But the High Lady was away, dealing with some ridiculous dispute between two noble families at the border territories where things were still volatile. And this didn’t feel like any magic he’d ever seen before.

Caution taking over, Eita changed his course, going higher again, to circle the area from above.

Even with eagle vision, he couldn’t see shit.

In animal form, his call for others would be too weak to be heard all the way in the city, where Satori and his men were no doubt taking advantage of their day off. He could of course smash into the shimmering wards that protected the capital like an invisible cupola, but that would alert the entire guard. And Eita couldn’t risk that, not when he had no idea what he was dealing with.

Seeing no other alternative, he landed a safe distance away from heavy clouds of _wrong_. Every instinct in his body told him to _run, run, run_. Fear chilled him to the bone. It was irrational, it was ridiculous. It wasn’t like him at all.

Through mentally gritted teeth, with effort that shouldn’t have been required, Eita shifted back into his fae form.

A high-pitched cackle came from deep within the fog. A grey wiry silhouette followed, far too blurry, mist clinging to its very essence.

It reeked of unseelie. The kind that should be locked behind unbreakable locks.

Magic sizzled at Eita’s fingertips, hungry and ferocious.

The ocean responded in kind. First, in tiny ripples. Then in gentle waves that bubbled against the shore. They grew and grew in size, raising higher and higher as magic poured off Eita. Until an impenetrable inky-black wall of a tsunami towered poised for an attack.

The malicious cackle grew in volume. Unafraid. Taunting. _Irritating as fuck._

The water gurgled in excitement. Heavy droplets raining down on them both. Ready to destroy.

“Lord Semi!”

Rushed footsteps.

“Stop!” Eita barked, not taking his eyes off the enemy.

“I was on a patrol,” Goshiki explained as he flanked Eita’s left side. Kawanishi took right. “It appeared out of nowhere. Inside the wards. Then it just stopped. And I couldn’t find you.”

So he went after Shirabu, because Shirabu always knew what to do. And where to find Eita, thanks to their bond.

“What the hell is this,” Kawanishi asked tensely. The tip of his spear gleamed in moonlight.

“I have no idea, and honestly, I don’t care. I’m blasting it out of here.”

Goshiki nodded vigorously in agreement, eyes blazing as bright as the flashes of lightning playing across the blade of his broadsword.

“It’s a Far Liath.” With best back-up at his side, Eita risked a glance over his shoulder. Shirabu stood completely motionless, eyes wide, lips pale.

“The Greyman?” Eita could not contain his incredulity. The Greyman was a creature of nightmares. It existed only in tales of old, passed down to generation after generation of little kids, shown in colourful picture books before bed. Far Liath—a malicious inescapable mist that induced terror and confusion, sunk ships and led astray travellers. Slain by a mighty seelie hero. Koutarou had been the one to read it to Eita.

Shirabu did not look like he was telling a story. “That’s how it got past the wards. It simply seeped through them.”

Just as it was seeping away now, the whiteness dissipating fast. The Greyman escaping with it.

“Hey!”

All at once, the wall of water rushed down in a torrent that roared with power, a single strike that smashed into the surface of the ocean like a fist, blinding them all under a rainfall, causing wave after wave, chasing its pray.

It caught nothing but an echo of a laugh. And a lingering puff of white. A mocking farewell.

Nobody spoke.

Eita’s shield flashed bright blue before vanishing. Last of raindrops fell on his skin. Shallow waves lapped warmly, soothingly at his feet.

_A warning. This was a warning. A taunt._

In the darkness, he found Shirabu’s face. Looking back at him. Dark with understanding.

“Goshiki, go to spring. Get Kou. Tell him… Tell him that winter is here for revenge.” A million thoughts, all of them melting into nothing but a white noise in his head. “Tell him that someone has released the monsters from the unseelie prisons.”

The question was who, the question was how. And what the hell were they supposed to do now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This was supposed to be a filler chapter in which I get semishira out of my system thanks to enablers that surround me. That’s clearly not what happened. Help.)  
> And thank you all for your lovely comments and kudos and all the encouragement! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. It’s back to Kuroo and Tsukishima next time, finally.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a fae creature dies in this chapter, which I suppose could be compared to the death of a wild animal. It's brief and not very graphic, but still.

 

He dreamt of a palace in the sky. And although a quick breathless look down showed him it stood on the highest mountaintop, it still felt like it was floating in the dark blue sky where stars sparkled brighter than any gems and lights twisted together in an unforgettable dance.

It was a strangle place. Instead of walls and windows, there were rows of tall stone columns. Evergreens spilled from massive planters, like a forest that was taller than Kei. Thick brown furs covered dark reflective floor, Kei’s feet sunk into their softness. A giant bed had even more furs, as well as a mountain of pillows that looked impossibly inviting.

Outside this strange but familiar room, the blizzard raged free, gusts of ice and snow swirling viciously around the palace like a cocoon. But as Kei stood in front of a tall mirror, he felt no cold, no chill. Which couldn’t possibly be due to his very unexplainable choice of clothing—snug leather pants tucked into thigh-high boots and a thin billowing shirt of snow white that was open at the chest.

Something dark caught Kei’s eye. Slowly, as if with a will of their own, his fingers reached for the silky fabric, pulled it lower, just a bit. His eyes widened, marvelling. Disbelieving.

Marring his otherwise unblemished subtly glowing skin was an intricate tattoo, barely visible. Right above his heart.

For some reason almost afraid, Kei touched the beautiful outline of flowers and frost gently, tentatively. It felt warm and pulsing under his touch.

He didn’t drop his hand when he heard soft footsteps behind him, recognizing the sound on some purely subconscious level.

“Does his father know?”

Kei met the stranger’s eyes in the mirror. They looked almost identical to his—a bit darker, a bit softer. As did his face—sharper, older, but with a bittersweet smile that captured both Kei’s sombre expression and the sheer joy that was threatening to burst out of his chest every time his fingertips grazed the mark. “No one does.”

_Except you._

But whatever the stranger—familiar, so familiar, _so loved_ —said in reply was swallowed by the loud shrill of an alarm clock.

And Tsukishima Kei woke up alone, in his dark and ordinary apartment, clutching at his chest as if holding onto some piece of himself he didn’t even know was missing.

 

-

 

The dream stayed with him. Maybe because it was so weird, maybe because something inside him still felt hollow, or maybe because it wasn’t the first time he’d dreamed of those snowy mountain peaks and the haunting howls of flying beasts in the sky.

He couldn’t let go of it. For some inexplicable reason, he just couldn’t.

Not even as he hurried towards _Yachi’s,_ where Kuroo stood waiting next to the entrance, two paper cups in hand and an easy nervous smile on his lips. Kei raised a questioning eyebrow but took the offering with a somewhat grateful nod. It was a chilly afternoon, and the mix of sugar and caffeine both warmed Kei and eased some of his jittering.

Kuroo was still smiling, but it was almost… expectant, even more nervous.

“I thought we were going out for dinner?” Kei asked, taking another sip. He had to suppress an actual moan as the liquid hit his tongue; it was his usual double-shot latte yet somehow it tasted sweeter, richer, darker. Nothing like Kei had ever had before. Did Tadashi order a new coffee blend? If so, Kei could consider moving into the shop permanently.

Kuroo motioned Kei to follow and began to walk in the direction opposite of downtown Sendai. “It would be very rude of me not to, considering it was the promise of strawberry shortcakes that finally seduced you.”

Kei snorted. “It certainly wasn’t your personality.”

“Ah, there’s the Tsukki we all know and love.” Kuroo led them off the main street, confident in his steps. Despite himself, Kei felt his curiosity peaking with each turn they took, leaving the bustling city behind as they stepped into a maze of narrow streets and identical houses squished close together. He recognised the area only vaguely.

“Then why coffee?”

“Thought it might make the journey more enjoyable. We have a bit of a walk ahead of us. Is that okay?”

More than Kuroo could imagine. There were few places in Sendai where public transport didn’t go, but as with everything else in his life, Kei just had to make it difficult. For as long as he could remember, he had a weird distaste of transportation. Any kind, but particularly cars. Something about them felt wrong and suffocating, to the point of nausea. 

Kuroo couldn’t have known that, of course, but Kei felt grateful all the same. Daily subway trips to university and work were his limit.

“Of course, there’s also my excellent company.”

“And your ego.”

“That too.”

Yet as they walked farther and farther, past kids laughing on the playground and housewives hurrying home with bags of groceries, Kei marvelled at how easy it was to talk to Kuroo. How effortless it was to snark at him, and have him respond in kind. How he asked his questions, and genuinely cared about the answers, sometimes nodding a little with a pleased smile, as if affirming something. How he blatantly challenged Kei with harmless provocations.

“Kuroo-san, we are not having the coffee versus tea conversation.”

“Afraid you’ll lose, Tsukki?”

“Worried you might cry after I crush you with caffeine superiority.”

It was like talking to an old friend.

An infuriatingly attractive one.

And it wasn’t just Kuroo’s ridiculously perfect face that made Kei’s breath catch in his throat sometimes, left him stumbling for words. It was everything about him. From the way he carried himself with such ease that his light footsteps made no sound, to the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, throaty and rich.

It was embarrassing, how drawn Kei felt to a stranger who should’ve made him feel unease, not comfort.

Especially as the peaceful suburban street came to an abrupt end, widening into what looked like an abandoned park. The grass was mowed, but badly and too long ago. The few curvy muddy paths were overgrown with wild flowers. In the distance, Kei could see the riverbank.

Kuroo, however, turned right, towards a dark patch of forest. It didn’t look very inviting.

Kei stopped walking. “Where are we going?”

“Tired? It’s not that far now, I promise. Just past these trees.”

“ _Kuroo-san_.”

Sensing the alert, Kuroo stopped too. Turned around. Looked straight into Kei’s eyes. So open, so honest _it hurt_.

And maybe Kei was a fool after all.

“Don’t you trust me, Tsukki?”

Because he did. It was utterly ridiculous, not to mention all kinds of stupid and unsafe. But it was as if his very soul was reaching for Kuroo. Ached to be near him. Couldn’t say no.

He took Kuroo’s outstretched hand, and let him lead.

 

-

 

It was a small clearing, exactly where Kuroo said it would be—just past the tree line, hidden from sight. Yet it looked like a completely different world.

Flowers in every colour covered the ground like the softest of blankets, each of them in full bloom. Birds of every size chirped melodiously from the shadows of massive trees, unlike any Kei had seen around the city. A tiny stream gurgled happily as it curved between the trunks, singing its own joyful song.

Everything was bright and sharp, full of colour and smells. As if by stepping into the clearing, they’d entered another universe. Which would explain the unpleasant cold feeling that passed over Kei like a sticky coat of gel. It was over in a flash, but Kei still felt its phantom residue.

Too bad he wasn’t in a sci-fi movie. “Where are we?”

From the corner of his eye, Kei saw Kuroo shrug nonchalantly, appearing more interested in Kei’s reaction than in the scenery. “Somewhere most people don’t know about.”

It explained why the place looked so untouched, so pure and pristine. _Magical_.

“But you do.” More than that, Kuroo looked like he was part of this world. Had his place here as much as the trees and the flowers, with sunshine spilling around him like a halo. It made his features appear sharper, more prominent. His hair even darker. His eyes every gorgeous shade of brown.

Kei stifled the urge to wipe his glasses clean.

“I like exploring, particularly the nature.”

With now familiar greed, Kei stashed that piece of information away, with all the others Kuroo had revealed on their way here and the days prior. Maybe once he had them all, Kei would see the big picture. Would understand why his lungs couldn’t draw deep enough breaths in Kuroo’s presence. Why his fingers twitched with the sheer need to touch.

Kuroo’s lips parted on a breath. Heat rushed to Kei’s face. _He hadn’t been that obvious, had he?_

Needing a moment to calm down, Kei turned his focus back to the beauty around them—and gasped.

In his barely concealed awe before, he hadn’t noticed the dainty-looking gazebo at the edge of the clearing. Bronze intricate lattice formed a spacious hexagon, with birds and flowers just a shade darker breaking the perfect geometrical pattern. Leafy vines twisted up the metal posts, towards the tilted roof from where they cascaded down in dark heaps. Wide wooden steps led to a circular table, flanked by two metal chairs with plush seats. The food laid out on the glass table top smelled divine, from the array of bite-sized appetizers to the crystal carafe of blood red wine. And, of course, a serving tray of mouth-watering strawberry shortcakes.

“I figured you must’ve been wined and dined plenty of times in your life,” Kuroo explained, sounding sheepish of all things. Kei’s heart did a traitorous flip.

He’d been on a few dates, mostly at Tadashi's insistence—or worse, because of Hitoka's sad almost-pitying eyes. So he’d allowed total strangers to take him out on dates that left him drained and painfully aware of how much he didn’t like people. One talked too loudly, another too much, third had shitty taste in music, fourth was clearly more interested in dating himself that anyone else… The list went on.

And it was those past experiences that had Kei expecting middle-rated restaurant at most today, too.

“Thank you,” he muttered, not knowing what else to say. Anything that came to mind was too corny, or too intimate. Or both.

“Ah,” Kuroo said, just as awkwardly, as if he too was looking for appropriate words, “it was my pleasure.”

Twisting his fingers nervously, Kei wished they could just go back to the easy banter from before. This was too much— _Kuroo_ was too much. The way he looked at Kei, soft and smiling. The way he talked, like Kei was the only thing that mattered. The way he laughed, and his eyes twinkled gold in the sunlight.

The way he made Kei want to run to him, and breathe in his scent, and never ever let go.

Because as ridiculous as it sounded in his mind, in his heart it felt _right_ to be here. Just him and Kuroo. Alone in this secluded paradise. Away from everything and everyone else.

Felt as if they had done this thousands of times before.

“Shall we?” Kuroo said at last, breaking the thick, charged silence. And with it, the flood of emotions that threated to swallow Kei from the inside.

Relieved and feeling a lot more himself, he took a seat at the table before Kuroo could do something terribly cheesy like pull out a chair for him. Which, judging by Kuroo’s pleased knowing smirk, was only the first item on what must be a very long list of embarrassing things he could and would do.

Though how Kei knew that, he himself couldn’t fathom.

“Can I at least pour you some wine?”

Kei clicked his tongue but offered his empty glass to Kuroo. As he watched the liquid pour and swirl into the fine crystal, he drawled, “I see your stalker tendencies are back, Kuroo-san.” Unlike most of his peers, including Tadashi, Kei tended to stay away from both beer and sake. When he did touch alcohol, it was always wines. Even when none tasted as rich and smooth as he wanted—expected them to.

None, except this one. A burst of cherries and plums exploded in his mouth, leaving a sweet tender aftertaste as he swallowed. He detected faint hints of dark chocolate, and something else that he couldn’t pinpoint. A wine meant to be savoured. _Perfect._

“Or I’m that good at guessing. And lucky.”

“You asked Tadashi, didn’t you?”

“He was very eager to help, too. Tell me, Tsukki, has your dating life been that tragic?”

Kuroo was watching him lazily over the rim of his own glass, and it really was unfair how unaffected by it all he seemed. “Tragic enough to make Tadashi worry you’ll be the worst yet, apparently.”

“And am I? The worst you’ve had?” Though Kuroo’s tone hadn’t changed and his questions were as playful as the ones before, there was something seeping underneath them that had Kei thinking twice.

“No, no you aren’t,” he replied honestly. Then, because he was who he was, added, “Probably because I haven’t actually had you yet.”

When Kuroo chocked on his wine, Kei counted it as a victory.

Truth was, he didn’t know what to think of Kuroo. He was almost too good to be true. They fit together, in a way Kei hadn’t expected them to. And Kei—antisocial, insecure Kei—found himself enjoying the company, even when Kuroo managed to throw him off balance. It made payback taste all the sweeter.

Almost as sweet as the promised strawberry shortcakes. This time, Kei did moan as the spongy biscuit with the perfect amount of creamy sugary filling hit his tongue. And if he hadn’t been so busy tasting heaven, he would’ve been mortified by the sound.

He cursed his weakness when he finally noticed that Kuroo had frozen in place, one hand mid-air, hovering above one of the serving plates. Forgotten, because his attention was zeroed on Kei’s lips as he licked them clean.

Yet it wasn’t lust that had glazed those eyes. It felt like so much _more_.

Suddenly warm, Kei cleared his throat. “You never told me how you actually found this place.”

Kuroo took a big gulp of his wine. It must’ve helped, because soon he was piling up food, like the moment before had never happened. “I guess you could say it found me?”

“It found you?”

“Mhm.” Kuroo picked a tiny spring roll off one of the trays, eyed it suspiciously. Made a funny face, as if expecting the shrimp to still be alive. Then shrugged and swallowed it whole. “I’ve walked past this place hundreds of times, yet never saw it. Until I needed it.”

Kei snickered. “Careful, Kuroo-san, your inner Harry Potter nerd is showing.” When Kuroo tilted his head in confusion, Kei had to elaborate, “Room of Requirement?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Just as you’ve never watched the movies or read the books, I’m sure.”

But as it turned out, Kuroo had, indeed, neither watched nor read Harry Potter. Hadn’t even heard of them.

And Kei, tipsy from the wine, couldn’t help it—he laughed. A joyous muffled sound that came as a surprise even to him. Unstoppable. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

The next hour was spent discussing finest plot points of Harry Potter franchise and poking holes in it.

 _It felt like a dream_ , Kei thought. Sitting there with Kuroo, bickering over spells and redemption arcs. Sipping wine and basking in the sun. Living in that single moment.

Which, he supposed, explained why he had been so slow to react when it was shattered with an anguished wail as a blur of fangs and fur came running from the forest.

Kuroo was already on his feet, shouting something in a language Kei didn’t understand, couldn’t process. Too stunned by what he saw.

It was a size of a forest rabbit, with four spindly legs. Its paws had talons the size of Kei’s fingers, and they dug into the grass as the creature stumbled over its feet, determined to get to its target. Its fur was grey and matte from dirt. Its lolling tongue dark purple. Drool and blood dripped from its fangs.

 _It was hurt_ , Kei realised with a startle. _Dying._

The chair fell to the floor with a clang of metal against wood, but Kei paid it no attention.

“Wait!” Kuroo shouted. Kei didn’t listen. He was rushing towards the creature. The same creature who was reaching back—for Kei—but not to attack. _To what?_ Kei couldn’t tell. _Couldn’t think._ And as the creature drew its last laborious breath—as Kei came finally close enough to touch, he could swear he heard it say, “Lord… Kei…”

All he could do was stare. Afraid to move. Unsure of anything.

Until a shrill hunting cry pierced the sky, and a massive owl the colour of first snow swooped down to take its prey.

Leaving Kei alone in his shock.

 

-

 

Their walk back was mostly silent. Kei was thankful for it.

His mind was swirling with thoughts, struggling to catch up.

Back in the forest, he could swear he’d seen a creature, not an animal. Its blood had been _blue._

But the farther they walked, the less he could remember. How it looked, how it sounded— _was it blue? Or was it simply dark? Was it just a wounded rabbit, like Kuroo seemed to think? It all happened so fast._ By the time they reached _Yachi’s_ , he couldn’t describe any of it. Except for that hoarse barely decipherable voice in his head. Even as the words made no sense.

Maybe the wine they’d drank had been a lot stronger than he thought.

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo said. Awkwardly, he scratched his head, looking anywhere but at Kei. “This isn’t how I wanted it to go.”

Even with the evidence gone, neither of them had been able to go back to their pleasant banter or stomach the food. They’d packed up their things and left the place as untouched and pristine as they’d found it. Kuroo was still holding the big wicker basket.

Another wave of after-work crowd passed them by.

Kei shrugged. “You did deliver the best strawberry shortcakes in town, and I’m still alive.”

Kuroo blinked. Then blinked again, understanding dawning. Slowly, his lips stretched into a smile. Then into a full-blown grin. Kei’s chest hurt. “Tsukki! Does this mean you’ll allow me a do-over? No animal disasters next time, I promise.”

How could Kei possibly say no to such honest expression of joy?

And when Kuroo kissed him gently, tenderly on the cheek, his breath setting Kei’s skin aflame, he told himself he wasn’t disappointed that he didn’t get to drink it straight from Kuroo’s lips.

 

-

 

He kept telling himself that as he made his way back to the suburbs, to his shitty one-room apartment. But it was only when he was stripping out of his clothes that the thought had actually left him.

Because on his chest was a tattoo. Intricate and barely visible. An outline of frost and flowers. Right above his heart.

“What the fuck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t ever follow strangers, kids. No matter how trustworthy they look. (Which, Kuroo actually doesn’t. Probably.) 
> 
> GAHHHH thank you all who reached to me after the last chapter, saying how much they enjoy this verse. It honestly means the world to me. Thank you, so much. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and Tsukishima. It's truly been too long.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a warning for even more blood and death. This time a biiiiit more detailed. Please don’t kill me.

Keiji’s heart dropped the moment Bokuto stepped inside the guest room, covered in blood and cursing viciously. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Frustration—or maybe just annoyance—made Bokuto’s features appear severe, made of shadows and sharp angles. Even the soft light of the dainty crystal candelabra that chimed gently in the always-present artificial breeze couldn’t even them out; Keiji hadn’t bothered with opening the windows and the heavy velvet drapes. “I was flying over the perimeter of the clearing, as agreed. Away from the lovebirds but close enough to come in any emergency.”

It had been Keiji’s idea, one that Kuroo had appreciated. But only Bokuto could be entrusted with it, since Keiji didn’t possess any shapeshifting abilities and had been therefore stuck in the mansion instead, pouring over books with double his usual effort. Trying his best not to worry. Why he’d chosen Bokuto’s room to stay in was not something Keiji was willing to address.

Normally, it was one of the biggest guest suites in the mansion, with a four-poster canopied bed that Keiji was currently sitting on and a balcony with a spectacular view of hills and valleys beyond. But with Bokuto pacing in agitation, the space looked three times smaller. Keiji watched in silence. Only when Bokuto almost tripped over an ornate rug did Keiji pat the mattress in an invitation. Dutifully, Bokuto went to sit beside him.

“I don’t know where it came from. I don’t even know what it _was._ Some unseelie, most likely winter. I don’t know how it slipped past the wards, but when I noticed it, it was already running for Tsukki.”

“Did he see it?”

“I think so. But no more than a glimpse. It was fast, Akaashi. Even Kuroo didn’t react in time.”

Keiji nodded, most of his attention already on the thousands of possibilities. An unseelie running free? In spring territory?

_Not good._

Had it known Tsukishima would be there? Had it somehow _sensed_ him?

_Not good at all._

If crossing the veil—if drinking the potion—had awakened some fae part of Tsukishima… Normally, it wouldn’t matter. Lesser fae prowled the mortal realm all the time, hunting for prey. But Tsukishima wasn’t like them. Even a fraction of his glamour would be too distinct, too unique of a signature. Bright like fire in the darkness of cold winter night.

With Akiteru’s spell hiding him so well, Tsukishima had been presumed dead by most. If the truth got out with Tsukishima completely defenceless…

“That’s not all, is it?” Keiji asked, already dreading the answer.

Bokuto shook his head, suddenly weary. With a grimace, yet almost as an afterthought, he conjured a palmful of water to clean the dark unseelie blood that was coating his fingers from where his talons had most likely grabbed the creature. “Whatever it was, it was barely alive. But I couldn’t feel anything from it. No poison, no spell. Almost like…”

“Almost like it was simply drained of its life force?”

“Exactly like that! How did you know?”

“You missed some blood. There, on your lips.”

Ignoring Bokuto’s sheepish smile for the sake of his own heart, Keiji reached with his right hand and wiped the smear of blue with the pad of his thumb. Bokuto’s swallow was a loud reminder of how now really wasn’t the time. _Was it ever going to be?_

Suppressing a sigh, Keiji shifted back to more important things. “Winter court isn’t merely waiting for its next successor, as we feared. It’s already chosen him.”

“Only Tsukki isn’t here. He can’t come _home_.”

“Which leaves his court starving.” And them with even less time than they’d thought.

Fae magic—powerful, ancient fae magic—was a vicious, wicked thing. Should the wielder of it die before relinquishing it to the next ruler, the magic would choose its own king, heedless of bloodlines and politics. For without it, the court would slowly perish, unable to feed.

And the balance would be gone.

Which is why getting Tsukishima back had never been just about Tsukishima. They couldn’t lose winter. Just as they couldn’t have starving winter fae flocking to unsuspecting Tsukishima in the mortal realm.

Bokuto thought about it for a moment, nodding solemnly from time to time. Then his eyes widen in realisation. “Do you think the attack on summer had something to do with it as well?”

“The Greyman? It’s a possibility.”

A terrifying one at that. If the unbreakable locks to the unseelie prisons were simply weakening from the lack of magic… Who knew what kind of creatures would emerge from its depths. And how bloodthirsty they would be after aeons of imprisonment in ice and stone.

Bokuto nodded again. Keiji had no doubt that he was itching to be back home, to protect his people from a potential threat. But he stayed, for Kuroo, and for Keiji, and for Tsukishima. For the future. “Mother’s back in the capital, by the way. She isn’t happy.”

If there was a topic Keiji wanted to avoid more than anything, it was the High Lady of the Summer Court. He knew her power, and her thirst for more. Knew how cunning she could be. How devastating. He knew that Bokuto knew it too, better than anyone else. He was, after all, her favourite tool to use.

But Bokuto was still her son, with a heart of pure gold. And that is why Keiji hadn’t shared his suspicions about the High Lady’s involvement in what happened twenty-three years ago. Not with Bokuto, and not with Kuroo. Not with anyone.

“Her court was attacked out of nowhere. I’d be surprised if she wasn’t.”

Just as he wasn’t surprised that Bokuto saw right through his attempted nonchalance, seeking answers. “But it wasn’t out of nowhere, was it, Akaashi?”

Keiji said nothing. He couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ —lie, not to Bokuto. But maybe if Bokuto said the words out loud himself, that would make dealing with them just a little bit easier.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot since Goshiki came here,” Bokuto explained, as if Keiji didn’t know how seriously he took some of his duties. “Summer and spring are equal in power. But it was spring who decimated winter. So why would the greyman attack us? When it could’ve just as easily penetrated your borders instead? If it was revenge it came for… It doesn’t make sense.”

“We assumed that’s what it wants, but we can’t know for sure.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Akaashi, and you know it.”

Keiji stood up from the bed to pour himself a glass of water from the crystal decanter on the coffee table. Just like everything in spring court, it was a piece of art with intricate loops of vines and thorns and roses carved into sparkling glass. So very pretty. And fragile.

Bokuto followed his every move with rapt attention.

“Kuroo’s mother died a long time ago,” Keiji said between small slow sips that didn’t ease the razor-sharp lump in his throat. “His father never did get over it. But he also never acted on his promise of revenge. Not once. Not until that day.”

“Death of a mate can drive anyone insane. That’s why fae matings are so rare. All he needed was something to push him over the edge.”

“Something,” Keiji mused. “Or _someone_.”

He didn’t want to, but he forced himself to turn around and look into those wide disappointed eyes. Heard the words echo hollowly, “Someone who’s always wanted more.”

Keiji’s heart broke at the utter lack of surprise. At the defeated acceptance.

He came closer then, to pry Bokuto’s fingers from their pale-knuckled grip on the silk and the velvet the of maroon bed covers. “It’s just a theory. One possibility.”

“But it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps.” Keiji kneeled on the floor, met that sad gaze dead-on. “But do you really want to be thinking about it right now? When there is nothing we can do? When we’re _this close_ to getting Tsukishima back?”

Bokuto shook his head—first slowly, then more vigorously, until his lips widened into a grin. “So does today mean Kuroo has finally taken the title of Worst First Date Ever from Terushima?”

 

-

 

Somehow, the second date happened. So did the third. Fourth was marked down for next week. Kei didn’t understand how. Worse, he couldn’t blame it entirely on Kuroo and his own apparent weakness towards that cat-like smile.

Which was odd, to say the least. Kei wasn't a stranger to being attracted to people. Or rather, there had been quite a few he'd found, objectively, very attractive. Yet not a single one of them had made getting to know them sound any less unappealing. It was something neither Tadashi nor Hitoka ever really understood. They liked people. Genuinely. Kei did not. He didn't care for the initial awkwardness, or the mindless small talk, or the pitying looks he'd gotten every time people found out he was from the system.

Which made Kuroo an anomaly. A puzzle that Kei could not, for the life of him, solve. But desperately wanted to.

Because sometimes—when then talked, and when they _didn't_ —he felt more comfortable around him than he did around Tadashi. Tadashi, whom he had known for almost the entirety of his life—short to some, but an eternity to Kei.

If not for the fact that this was far from the oddest thing in his life at the moment, Kei would've freaked out about it three dates ago. Like he did about the tattoo.

The mystery of which still remained. Kei was this close to asking Tadashi if he’d maybe gotten drunk recently and forgot all about ending up in a tattoo parlour. The only reason he hadn’t was because he couldn’t trust Tadashi not to be the one who had possibly dared him to do it in the first place.

Never mind that he didn’t drink often, definitely not in the last couple of weeks.

Aside from that one time with Kuroo. Who couldn’t be trusted either.

“You have that look on your face again.”

Kei turned to look at the man in question. And found him—unsurprisingly—smiling. Softly, with his eyes. Punching Kei right through the ribcage. "What look?"

They were back at _Yachi's_ , on a something that was certainly not a date. Nor a pure coincidence. Kuroo had offhandedly and very much obviously asked if Kei would be here right before they parted yesterday. Kei had seen no reason to lie. And when he stepped into the busy warm coffeeshop just after his only class the next morning, he was greeted by a fresh cup of coffee and Kuroo leaning casually over the corner counter, talking amicably with Tadashi between the steady trickle of customers.

 _What were they_ , he'd wondered then, taking slow steps towards his best friend and a man who was not quite stranger, not quite friend. _Potential lovers? People who found it easy to talk to each other? One weirdo attracted to another?_

“The there's-a-thing-I-can't-stop-thinking-about-which-pisses-me-off -more-than-the-thing-itself-does look."

Kei scowled and took a sip of his coffee—his first cup of the day, because he'd once again woken up in the middle of the night from yet another weird dream, then almost overslept after finally managing to fall back asleep as the sun began to rise above the horizon.

Maybe it was time to consider seeing a shrink.

“Oho, no denying remark this time?” Kuroo drawled.

“If there is something I’ve learned this past week with you, Kuroo-san, it’s that some things just aren’t worth it.”

Kuroo made an exaggerated sniff, but the knowing grin gave him away. He never did get offended by anything Kei said to him. Kei looked away, scoffing not nearly as hard as he should’ve.

“Not going to share?”

And _that_ —that was the reason Kuroo was so damn _unreal_. Impossible to comprehend. That mix of just enough teasing to make it clear he won't push and such complete sincerity in caring about the answer if given one.

At times, it left Kei completely unarmed. Wondering if maybe he did dream this man into existence after all.

Or if he maybe had some sort of Kei manual.

Kuroo's voice was very, very soft as he nearly whispered, "You dreamt about me?"

But Kei heard it very loud and very clear, as if the noisy coffee shop had gone completely quiet. Realising that he must’ve said the words out loud. That _Kuroo had heard them._

Heat rushed high up his cheeks.

It was one thing to sometimes, very rarely, entertain the thought deep in the safe confinements of his own mind. To weakly wonder if the blurry silhouette that smelled like fresh spring flowers and felt like home could possibly— _impossibly_ —be Kuroo. To tentatively puzzle over what it meant.

It was completely another to actually voice it, and have Kuroo himself hear it. Just as loud, and just as clear.

_How embarrassing. How utterly, mortifyingly embarrassing._

“I also dream about riding dragons and castles in the sky,” he said as nonchalantly as possible, ignoring the truth of it. He wanted to add something else, make a gleeful jab at crushing Kuroo’s hopes of dirty dreams.

Only Kuroo didn't seem to be leering, or laughing. He didn't seem to be doing anything at all, including breathing.

So Kei fell silent too. The polished surface of the counter felt warm under his nervously twitching fingers, flecks of sunlight chasing each other merrily on glossy wood.

“Well, I hope the real me met the no doubt high expectations.” Slowly, with a smile Kei couldn’t describe, Kuroo raised his massive tea mug in a lavish toast. “To flying dragons and weird dreams, Tsukki.”

Kei pretended he didn’t notice the minuscule shaking of Kuroo's hands.

 

-

 

Work dragged impossibly slowly that evening. Despite it being a short shift, and a relatively quiet one. The first hour or so had been fine; one of Kei's co-workers had stayed behind to work on a few orders they'd had received that week and her company was actually pleasant since their music taste ran along similar yet different enough lines.

Once alone, however, and with no customers in sight as the weather took a 180 degree turn into downpour, Kei could not stop his thoughts any longer.

Ever since parting with Kuroo, he'd been feeling anxious. Like a coil of snakes had awoken in his belly, hissing with displeasure. Something about his words had freaked Kuroo out, no matter how carefully he'd tried to conceal the fact with lame jokes and ugly laughter. Didn't he know that it could never work with those honest eyes of his?

Even if this time, Kei couldn't quite read what they were saying.

Was this it, then? Has he finally managed to spook Kuroo? The only person who made him want to _try_?

Or was he simply overthinking things?

The tiny brass bell rang cheerily as the glass door to the store opened with a gust of cold wet air. A boy of maybe sixteen barrelled in, shaking like a wet dog, drops of water falling in his wake. He smiled sheepishly at Kei.

"Sorry about that."

Kei shook his head in a careless dismissal, then went through the usual routine of helping a customer locate what they needed. Which turned out to be a beautiful set of black drum sticks.

"I have a gig tomorrow, and my sister's puppy chewed on one of the sticks," the boy explained with all the enthusiasm and drama of a teenager as Kei rang the order. "As if it doesn’t have enough toys of its own! Thank god your store is still open. And that it's close to school. It's nasty out there."

Kei nodded along, going on autopilot until the door closed behind the happy kid with another jingle of the bell.

It was sometime later that the sound of it announced another customer, breaking through the steady heavy patter of rain against the display windows. Kei was in the back room, sorting old storage items to kill time and provide his mind with some sort of a distraction.

With both hands busy carrying a precarious stack of ancient CDs, he had to shout to tell whoever had come into the store that he’ll be right out.

No one answered.

Kei rolled his eyes. _Probably another asshole who thinks being rude makes them tough._

Sighing and mentally preparing himself, he twisted to reach for the top shelf, where more CDs had already been piled neatly.

Felt a sudden chill run up his spine.

Somehow knew it wasn’t from the front door this time.

Heard the sudden deafening silence.

As if even the rain has stopped in—

 _Fear_.

Raw, paralyzing fear.

The CD cases shattered against the floor, but Kei didn’t hear the sound.

All he felt was suffocating darkness.

 

-

 

He was running. He didn’t know why or where. Only that he had to. Heard nothing but the thundering sound of his own steps as he turned corner after corner of an endless maze. Saw nothing but row after row of snow-white pillars reflected in the black marble of the floor.

His lungs burned. Ice prickled at his fingertips.

Then, a scream. Soul-wrenching, agonising scream of pain.

And suddenly, there was a man. Appearing out of nowhere.

He lay slumped against one of the pillows, sandy hair matte with blood. White shirt soaked in it as his pale hand clutched at a wound where a jewelled sword was still lodged deep.

Kei _knew_ this man. He had seen him in that strange dream.

“Kei,” he said. “Kei, they’re here. They broke past the wards. You have to—have to—”

He rushed to help, to stop the wound on his chest from bleeding, to ask him what he meant, who he was, to do _something_ —

But his hands grasped thin air, the man disappearing like a mirage.

Not leaving behind even a puddle of blood.

Kei stood up on shaky legs, bile rising in his throat. And saw another man appear. With him, a woman. Much older than the man before. But dressed in similar finery, with matching glittering crowns on their heads. Diamonds sparkling like snow in the sun.

They both smiled at Kei. The way he had sometimes seen parents smile at their babies. Full of unconditional love.

He took a stumbling step back.

Frowning, the woman took a step forward. Before she fell onto the floor, clawing desperately at her throat as a coughing fit seized her lungs. Kei saw the same happen to the man.

And they were… crying?

 _No, not crying,_ he realised with horror.

Water. It was water that dribbled out of their eyes, their ears, their _mouths_. Gurgling as it gained mass. Choked the two from the inside.

Somewhere—far, far in the hollowly echoing distance—a cackle. High-pitched, pleased cackle that had anger surging in Kei’s blood. Shattering the ice that coated his veins.

“Tsukki?”

There was Tadashi, looking lost and familiar. With ghostly hands wrapped around his throat.

“Tsukki?” he repeated, more afraid than ever.

 _Run,_ Kei wanted to scream. _Run_.

But no sound came out of his mouth. No sound at all, as he watched his best friend die and disappear into thin air.

Kei ran.

He ran, and ran, and ran. Past bodies and creatures. Past Hitoka and the girl from the store. Past their screams and their moans.

His head spun. His face burned from tears. His breathing came out in ragged sobs.

 _Stop_ , he begged. _Stop_.

He tripped, and fell.

Came face to face with Kuroo.

Kuroo, who was reaching out to him from a cocoon of blood-red roses, sharp thorns biting viciously into his skin and vines slithering along as they tightened their hold on his body.

And Kuroo was smiling that warm impossible smile. Looking at Kei like he was the centre of his universe.

Until he too was gone.

Taking everything else with him—the pillars disappeared, and so did the marble floor. The people, the blood, the death. All of it.

And Kei was falling falling falling down the sweet, sweet abyss.

 

-

 

Fluorescent overhead lights blinded Kei the moment he opened his eyes. The ugly shape of them told him he was still at the store. Apparently passed out cold on the dirty floor between storage shelves in the back room.

Breathing became a little bit easier.

_A nightmare?_

Groaning, Kei attempted to get up. Though it took some effort, with his head still spinning and his mouth tasting like ash, eventually he was up, leaning against the doorway.

Two things registered first: someone else was in the store, and something smelled absolutely vile.

He found the source of the smell first, crumpled in a pile next to one of the windows. It lay motionless and twisted, neck bent at an unnatural angle to reveal a grey face with no eyes, three holes for a nose, and black lips curled in a snarl over two rows of tiny pointy teeth. The stench of rot and decay was unbearable.

A stranger was standing over it, wiping some of the blood off a beautiful dagger. Black and sticky and pungent it dripped slowly from the gleaming blade. But Kei paid no attention to the ruined floor that he would no doubt have to pay for, focus solely on that perfectly blank expression. And the twitching cat ears.

“My name is Kenma. Kuroo’s coming. You might want to sit back down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was dramatic. Hope you enjoyed?  
> (Feel free to yell.)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos are Much Appreciated. And if you want to scream at me, I'm usually procrastinating on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kirinokisu).


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